


come out (and stay)

by crownedqueen



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, just a short snippet of what i would like to happen, post monster aftermath, takes place after s4ep12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedqueen/pseuds/crownedqueen
Summary: Life works in mysterious ways, Quentin thinks, and has a tendency to take you places you never expected to go.





	come out (and stay)

**Author's Note:**

> so i just got caught up on season four and i have... feelings about the newest episode that aren't necessarily positive so i decided to focus my energy on this! it's my first queliot fic but also my first time writing in a while, so please ignore any mistakes.

Life works in mysterious ways, Quentin thinks, and has a tendency to take you places you never expected to go.

If you were to ask him not even three years ago where he thought he’d be now, he would be so off it isn’t even funny. Because even though he dreamed of magic and Fillory and wondered daily what it would be like if it were real, reality in the form of Julia or his Dad or even his Mom, the few times she called to make sure he was alive, always made sure he never forgot it wasn’t.

But they were wrong.

They were wrong, and magic was real. And best of all, he had it. He went to a fucking _school for magic_ , learned how to do amazing things and met incredible people along the way. Fell in love, broke a heart and had his own broken, killed a god of Fillory, _Fillory,_ a place that is very much _real,_ and so many other things in between. But most of all, he found a place where he knew he belonged.

“Quentin? Quentin, can you hear me? If you hear me, open your eyes.”

His eyelids are so heavy. He has to fight to open them but fight he does, if only because he knows that voice. He’s heard that voice for years—fifty plus, to be exact—and not once has he ever grown tired of it.

Only it sounds different, somehow. It’s not the voice he’s used to hearing. It’s not the one that likes to tease him, the one to demand he party and drink until he can’t think straight, the one to pull him from the darkness when all he could think of was letting it consume him, the one that could be so soft and affectionate in the quiet of morning. No, there’s something off about it.

Eliot comes into hazy view when he finally is able to force his eyes open. He’s leaning over him, hands on his chest. At first he jerks against the hold— _Not-Eliot_ , his brain supplies in panic _—_ but then he meets his eyes. Though the monster controlled Eliot’s body and his eyes, there was a level of humanity and familiarity there that it just couldn’t replicate.

“El?” he croaks. His throat is dry, tongue heavy against his teeth.

Eliot gives him a half-smile. “It’s me, Q. I’m back.”

Quentin’s chest swells with relief. It’s his Eliot, finally returned to his normal self. For once they finally did something right.

“Holy shit, we did it.” he says, the tension in his body releasing with his sigh. The amount of stress that weighed down his shoulders over the few weeks could finally lift. It was over. “I can’t believe it.”

“Don’t celebrate just yet, Q. We have to save you first.”

Oh.

With that revelation, everything else rushes back.

The monster killing the god holding the last part of his sister’s body. Julia becoming possessed just like Eliot. Finding the reservoir of magic and powering up to face them. Alice at his side and Penny and Kady not far behind as they fought. Chaos when the plan partially failed, and then excruciating pain.

Quentin groans. He feels like he’s been ripped apart, held together only by some hidden string. It’s hard to think straight through the pain, the extent of it rushing to the front of his mind the moment he focuses on it. There’s warmth under his shoulders, seeping through his clothes, drying on his skin. He can’t assume it’s anything but his own blood.

 _“We’ve killed gods before,”_ he’d said to Julia, hadn’t he?

Quentin chokes out a laugh that dissolves into heaves for air.

“Jesus fuck Q, why are you _laughing_?” Eliot asks, giving him an incredulous look.

“I don’t know, it’s just—When we made the plan to save you two we thought of all the possible ways it could go wrong and how to avoid that, and yet we still managed to royally fuck up.” Quentin tries to lift his arm to gesture down at himself but finds he can’t muster the energy. Speaking alone is a challenge, but. The alternative is worse.

“Yes, we are quite incompetent, but I’d rather that not be the reason why you bleed out before Penny gets back. I’m sure you know there’s only so much centaurs can do.”

“El—”

“Don’t speak, Q. Save your energy. You’re being held together by one simple spell. Do too much and things might not end well.”

“Eliot—”

“Did I not just say save your energy?”

“ _Eliot!_ ”

“God, _what_?”

“I love you.” he blurts.

Whatever Eliot was going to say before never makes it out, surprise evident on his face. God, words can’t express how much Quentin’s missed him. While Eliot was possessed Quentin felt desperate and frantic and on edge all the time, worried about whether they would get to him in time, or even get to him at all. But now he’s here, looking at him. Quentin can’t look away, even after realizing what he just said. It's something that's been building in him the higher the stakes rose. Losing him made Quentin realize just how much he loves Eliot, how much of a central part in his happiness he plays. He needs to see Eliot’s expressions, the minute changes in his body language, the way his eyebrows furrow as he tries to puzzle out something that confuses him. He’s looking at Quentin like that now, really looking at him.

And then his face falls.

“Quentin Coldwater don’t you fucking dare.”

Quentin flinches. He hadn’t deluded himself into thinking things might change in the time they were apart, but he can’t say it didn’t still hurt. “Oh—I. I know what you said before, and this doesn’t have to change anything. Just. After all that’s happened or might happen, I just needed to say it one last time. I need you to know. I’m okay with us being friends, I just don’t want to lose you ever again.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong.” Eliot takes a deep breath and appears to brace himself for whatever he’s about to say next. “This is the last way I wanted to have this conversation, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s stupid to wait for a ‘later’ or a ‘next time’. So. Do you remember how I was able to take over the monster’s body and tell you that I was still alive?”

“Only moments before we nearly killed you? Shit, El, do you know how terrible that would have been? I almost—”

“Not the point.” Eliot cuts in, and if he didn’t look so nervous, Quentin might feel offended. Instead he bites his tongue and lets him continue. “To be able to reach you I had to go through a clusterfuck of terrible and embarrassing memories. Things that I pushed to the back of my mind because I was too ashamed to acknowledge happened. Abandoning my friend when he needed me most, jailing Margo, but most of all… ruining something good that we could have had because I didn't believe that someone like you would choose someone like me.”

Quentin think his heart might have stopped. He feels lightheaded, but can’t tell if it’s because of the blood loss or Eliot’s words. What is he saying? He searches Eliot’s eyes, as if they would tell him the answer. The man laughs lightly at his expression, one he’s sure is scrunched up and telling of how jumbled his thoughts are.

Eliot lifts his hand to his face, tracing the bottom of his chin with his thumb. Softer than before, he adds, “You make me braver. You make me a better person than I ever thought I could be. I love you too, Q, in a way that is far from fucking platonic. I never should have pushed you away, it was cowardly and I regret every moment of the pain it caused you. I don’t want to lose you, and you shouldn’t talk like I might.”

That’s what it is, he realizes, reeling in surprise. Why Eliot sounds and looks so different. He doesn’t often see this side of Eliot, terrified and unsure and yet so incredibly open and honest about it. He’d sooner see him drunk and high off his mind from almost every drug under the sun or even just shutting him out until things blow over than facing his emotions so directly. He blinks away the tears that form in his eyes, but never once does he look away. Is it really Quentin that makes him that brave?

“El,” he says, dumbfounded. “Do you mean that?”

Eliot leans down until their foreheads touch, expression warm and affectionate as he looks down at him. “Of course. Proof of concept, right? We had over fifty years to see how well we work. Who’s to say we can’t do it again? Only—if that’s still an option.”

His throat feels tight. After their conversation that day he’d felt crushed, like he lost a part of himself. Being able to love Eliot for a lifetime felt surreal, like a dream snatched from his hands before he could properly enjoy it. But having him now, knowing that he wanted to be with him even in this life… He couldn’t express what he was feeling with anything more than a muffled noise. Mustering as much energy as he could, Quentin tilts his head up to close the distance between them, pressing his lips against Eliot’s. More than anything it feels achingly familiar; wisps of memories of their time in Fillory slightly hazy at the edges remind him that they did this more than often, but he’s only been able to feel Eliot so close in this life only a few times. And never has it been as sweet as this.

The pads of Eliot's fingers press against his scalp when he tangles his fingers in his hair, tilting his head just so. The need to have Eliot close—much closer than he is now—overwhelms him, building and burning white-hot in his veins. He wants to feel him, wants  _more_. From the way Eliot sighs into the kiss, he feels the same. Unfortunately, they don't have that luxury.

Quentin is breathless when they finally break apart, resting his head back down on the ground. Maybe it wasn’t the best to get so swept up in emotion at a time like this, but he doesn’t care. The smile on Eliot’s face is brighter and warmer than anything he’s seen in a long time and he aches with how much he’s missed it. With it is the reassurance that his struggle wasn't for naught. He can't help but to respond with one of his own.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Quentin is met with Penny’s raised eyebrows when Eliot settles back on his knees. Similar to Eliot his clothes are covered in blood—Julia’s, he knows. His stomach churns. Choosing to become human at such a terrible time saved them but is also something Quentin will be sure to chastise her about, when everything settles.

“Kind of, but there are more pressing matters at hand.” Eliot says with a dry smile.

Penny nods. “Then let’s do this. It’s not going to be pretty, Coldwater. Traveling is going to open all of those wounds again.”

Quentin takes a deep breath, bracing himself. He can get through this, he has no choice but to do it. Eliot gives Quentin’s hand a squeeze. His gaze speaks the words ‘We’ll come back to this later’ loud enough to squash any remnant anxiety in the back of Quentin’s mind. Their story is broken and imperfect and will no doubt cause more pain and tragedy, but it’s far from over yet.

“Do it.”


End file.
